


Turn of Time

by FiKate



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Gen, Loneliness, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiKate/pseuds/FiKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demeter walks the world as she misses her daughter.</p><p><i>Her walks took her as far north as the cold edges of the North Sea and south to the hot sands of the Sahara. She could never keep track of all the borders and new names but judged by the people and how they did.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn of Time

Demeter measures time in Winters and families, the families always grow quicker than the Winters pass. Over the course of the first hundred Winters, she walked from Hellas to Gaul, where she found a home for the Summers that made her feel safe. She knew it could never be far enough away but she needed the smell of sea in the air and a hot sun that was familiar. Over the many Summers, they built a house and garden together that stretched for acres, where they both felt like it was home. Then in the Winters, the house would grow quiet as it felt too empty for her and she needed life around her.

Her walks took her as far north as the cold edges of the North Sea and south to the hot sands of the Sahara. She could never keep track of all the borders and new names but judged by the people and how they did. If they prospered then she’d smile to see them well as human leaders are prone to corruption and sharing pain, but if they did badly, she’d do what she could. Stories followed her as she left behind healing families and fields though the names attached to her changed.

When she began to walk, those who welcomed her knew the signs of her coming, the scents of Summer in the dark of Winter and a hint of wheat gold hair amongst her grey. The wise ones wouldn’t speak but instead leave thanks at her temple and the foolish ones would try to thank her and she’d leave. She learned how to find the kind ones who would welcome her in, usually a cat or dog would come out to greet her and the land would speak of hard workers who loved.

As the Winters blurred together, her temples grew quiet yet the tales of the old woman who brought health and ripeness in her wake were not forgotten. In some families, they would speak of how first grandmother then later someone else was once healed or blessed with a child by the old woman who wore black and carried Summer. When crosses became more familiar, she would always smile to find hidden away a small statue of her or a sheaf of golden wheat hanging upon the cross to show they haven’t truly forgotten. For she was never forgotten by the families she had touched so that when the Winters grew long and the darkness felt like it would push her into the ground, she would be welcomed into warm homes and feel like perhaps Spring was not that far away.


End file.
